


could be worse or better if you tried a bit harder

by abundleoftwigs



Series: twelve gauge [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Gen, In a way, M/M, intercrural, one of those Lone-Wanderer-Becomes-The-Courier fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-23 20:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10726668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abundleoftwigs/pseuds/abundleoftwigs
Summary: It had taken Charon an entire month to track him down, all the way from that shallow grave in Goodsprings to the heart of Freeside. He’s a familiar face, now sporting a scrappy looking eyebot at one shoulder, a ghoul in a mechanic’s jumpsuit at the other, and a bright blooming scar over his brow.“Heya big guy, have we met before? I feel like I recognise you.”----The Lone Wanderer leaves the Capital Wasteland to settle in the Mojave, before a bullet to the brain resets his life. Now, he’s just courier number six of seven, with a platinum chip on his shoulder, New Vegas in his sights, and one ghoul bodyguard in hot pursuit.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 "Charon, it’s just a quick delivery, won’t take more than a week if I run most of it. We’ve done this plenty of times. Trust me, I’ll be fine, and Dogmeat will protect me. Right girl? You should worry about resting that leg. But hey, if it takes me longer than that to get back, you come and find me okay?”

 

It’s not a direct order, no one’s given him an order in years really. But it’s tenuous enough a request that Charon chooses to go through with it, to heed the contract’s call. Yang still has it, he thinks. No, he _knows_. 

Charon finds Dogmeat’s body in the Goodsprings outskirts, blood matted into her fur and pieces of some poor fuck still in her teeth. The Mojave is warmer than the Capital Wasteland, her body was already starting to dessicate under the hot sun. She had been getting on in years, but he supposes she was always destined to go down fighting. He digs her a shallow grave piled with stones, hoping it’d be enough. She was a good dog, the first animal he’d decided was alright, but he doesn’t have the time for more than this. He needs to find Yang. A few glares and threatening grunts is all it takes to squeeze info from the locals. 

The mysterious courier pulled from their local graveyard was shot in the head by a man in a checkered suit, but he got better. The courier couldn’t remember who he was, or what he was doing before his injury. The courier was dug up by Victor, the weird local securitron. The courier had fixed Trudy’s radio. The courier had rallied the town together to run off the powder gangers, and was well spoken of by most except Chet, who apparently accused him of stealing food and weapons before he bounced. The courier left several days ago, and was on his way to Primm. 

 

Except he wasn’t. 

 

Charon should have known better, in hindsight, it’s hard to knock the _wanderer_ out of the Lone Wanderer after all, even with retrograde amnesia. The residents of Primm cowering in their run down casino hadn’t seen him at all, or knew if he’d even passed by the area. The NCR camp across from them was even less helpful, even if they aren’t rude about him being a ghoul like he’s expecting them to be. He looks around anyway, practically upturning the Mojave Express building with the corpse out the front and the broken eyebot on the table, even rescuing their sorry excuse for a deputy sheriff Beagle just so he can have an excuse to take his frustration out on some escaped convicts. 

He intimidates some caps out of Beagle, out of spite, and because he thinks he seems shifty. And because he needs them, of course. He uses the caps to stock up on ammo and a few stimpaks, then he makes his way to Nipton.

 

* * *

 

He only enters one building in Nipton, after sidestepping the man babbling on about winning the lottery. There he meets another, his legs are smashed in. Again with the lottery, and something about the Legion, but he’s rude, and he’s a Powder Ganger, who Yang had clearly aligned himself against according to his actions in Goodsprings. So Charon decides he is conveniently contractually obliged to shoot him in the face, before looting his body and scavenging what he can from the rest of the store. He leaves, barely noticing the huge tire fire in the middle of town, and the row of crucified men.

Ghouls live long, but he swears the pressure in his head is going to put him in the ground. 

 

* * *

  

He nearly makes it to Novac before he doubles back, he can even see the goddamn dinosaur in the distance. If Yang hadn’t passed through Primm, there was no way he’d be this far up the map already, right? Is he overthinking things? He's trying to track a man who is completely alone, who recently took a bullet to the skull, and who had supplies to maybe last him a few days. It should not be this hard! But then again, this is also a man who rarely took highways, who got sidetracked over the smallest things, who would explore virtually anything that caught his eye. 

Charon reluctantly turns off the main road, and into the wild. Yang could be fucking anywhere at this point. He’s getting desperate.

 

* * *

 

It’s another two weeks of almost headache crazed, aimless wandering for Charon before he comes across another lead, in the form of Mr New Vegas. The abandoned shack he’s managed to hole up in for the night still has a somewhat functioning radio, and a few hard knocks on the side is all it takes to get the static to clear.  

"A hostage crisis between the NCR and Great Khans was resolved peacefully when a third-party negotiator successfully secured the hostages' release.”

It has to be him. No one else would be ballsy (stupid) enough to walk directly into a hostage situation and somehow bullshit his way through to a peaceful resolution.

Charon leaves at dawn. He needs to get to Boulder City. 

 

* * *

   

The NCR are again, no help, no matter how much he growls and menaces Lieutenant Monroe. The only new information he learns is that The Courier is accompanied by some kind of floating robot. He vaguely remembers the broken down junk eyebot he saw when passing through Primm and curses. The buzzing in his head is loud.

He goes after Jessup next.

 

* * *

   

What he gets out of the Great Khans when he manages to catch up to them:

1) The man in the checkered suit was named Benny

2) The item Yang had been delivering was a platinum poker chip

3) Jessup had given Yang Benny’s lighter, and told him to shove it up his ass.

4) Yang was still an excellent bullshitter

5) Yang was going to New Vegas.

 

* * *

   

Freeside is the first place he finally allows himself an opportunity to rest. The Followers of the Apocalypse don’t seem to mind letting him squeeze onto one of their ratty old mattresses in the old fort, they even provide him with some food and light medical treatment. He sleeps for the first time in three weeks. His brain fog is beginning to lift. He’s close.

 

* * *

  

Charon’s hit a wall.

Pretty fucking literally, he thinks, glaring at the flashy lights of the Strip North Gate. All he’d managed to get out of Ralph and Mick (from Mick and Ralph’s) before he was shooed out is that Yang had sweet-talked his way to a cheap passport and was probably throwing his money away at one of the casinos already. 

Charon doesn’t have the caps, or the diplomatic knowhow to get in.

So now he’s standing there like a dog waiting for his master, next to a bin fire and a woman who introduces herself as Lady Jane. Charon doesn’t give a shit. (about Lady Jane specifically. He does give a lot of a shit about being a dog. He left that life behind when he blasted Ahzrukhal in his smug wheezing face)

There’s only one way in and out of The Strip, to his knowledge. Yang has to come through here, either to get in or get out. Charon stood vigil in the corner of the Ninth Circle for twenty years. He can stand here for just as long, without sleep if he has to. 

 

* * *

 

Turns out, Yang wasn’t on The Strip at all. Oh sure he had _been_ there, but he hadn’t stuck around. Just visited the Lucky 38 before returning to Freeside to escape the bright bright lights and sounds of the New Vegas casino scene. Their reunion was almost laughably coincidental, Yang visiting mother fucking Lady Jane of all people to collect a debt for the Garrets.  Charon watches, stock still as Yang patiently coerces her out of her whole debt, despite her initial insistence that she didn’t have the amount. He has that eyebot with him, floating close behind and…another ghoul? The Other Ghoul yawns, scrubs the back of his neck with his hand. He’s wearing a mechanic’s jumpsuit. The name tag says Miguel.

Then Yang turns. He cocks his head, squinting, hands on his hips.  

“Heya big guy, have we met before? I feel like I recognise you.” 

Charon feels like he’s going to explode, or implode, or disintegrate on the spot. If he were anyone else, he thinks he might even cry. He does none of these things. Instead, he picks Yang up by the shoulders and lifts him entirely off the ground. Snarls.

“Where the fuck have you been?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first fic I've written in my life and it's This, i guess. hope it's even remotely readable/enjoyable!


	2. Chapter 2

It’s stupid. He shouldn’t have let him go alone, the package had been fishy to begin with but they needed the caps. Supplies were low, they didn’t even have medical supplies left. Some irradiated water had helped heal the open sucking wound in his leg, but it wasn’t quite enough to get him back on his feet. they should have waited--   

"Hey Charon!”

He curses in his head, Yang…no, he goes by Six now. Six still says his name with the same lilting intonation as before, a painful reminder of the man he used to be. A wasteland legend, reduced to a number because it was all he could remember.

He’s sporting a different outfit now, an armoured suit with 13 emblazoned across the back in a dulled yellow. Charon wonders if he’ll ever remember the implications of a vault suit. If Six finds it strange that he takes to his donated pip-boy so easily, or if he recognises that particular shade of blue. Yang had hated the suits, and had mixed feelings about vault life at best. He'd replaced it with lightweight leathers as soon as he was able, and never wore anything vault-tec again.

His base personality is intact, as far as Charon can tell. Still a prankster and a brat. Still doesn’t seem disgusted by ghouls unlike many others out there, if the arm slung comfortably over Raul's (his name is apparently not Miguel) shoulder was any indication. Still as charismatic as he always had been, prior to the head injury. It certainly explains how he had managed to get so much shit done in such a short amount of time despite starting off with virtually no caps, a ratty old vault suit, and one shitty gun. That very same silver tipped tongue had gotten them in and out of trouble in the Capital Wasteland, makes sense it would have a similar effect here in the Mojave. Somehow in the month or so they’d been apart Six had managed to accidentally become the NCR’s new golden boy, gotten friendly with the Great Khans and the Followers of the Apocalypse (enough to get a discount at least), and if the handouts people kept running up to give him were any indication, charmed (bribed?) the pants off the entirety of Freeside. 

Six is a lot more vulgar than Yang ever was though, it seemed like he’d picked up on the vocabulary of the locals while travelling. He hadn’t lost his nice boy charm per se, so much as a lot of his inhibition. He drank freely, took chems, laughed louder. Killed faster, more viciously than he ever did before. 

Charon watches as Six hums, a little breathless, hacking off Driver Nephi’s head with a machete. It’s a song Charon recognises from their years of listening to GNR. If he can ignore the sounds of tearing flesh and cracking bone, he can for a brief moment imagine they’re back in that crumbling old Megaton home, Yang whistling along to the radio as he lounged on the couch, or patched up his armour. 

“I miss Raul, but I’m glad you’re here Charon. Don’t think his old ass would have liked such grisly work. Hope he ’n Arcade are managing to get along at the 38. Oh, and Boone, I guess. Or not, he’s kind of a loner isn’t he?” 

Charon doesn’t tell Six he’s probably just as old as Raul is. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey Charon, you knew me before right? You did sorta give me the rundown on my abridged life story when we met after all. What kind of person was I?”

Six is kneeling in front of the fire, doing his very best to warm up some leftover iguana on sticks, looking contemplative for the first time in the two weeks since they’d sort-of-reunited. He look young, somehow. He suddenly looks nineteen again, all gangly arms and legs just growing into his body, vault fresh, smelling of soap and sweet rolls. He still sucks at cooking.

“I mean, I don’t remember shit. I just kind of _know_ things you know? I’ll look at something and just go oh yeah, I can do that no problem. Like hack terminals and pick locks, clean my gun, read those Chinese manuals. Who the hell was I? Can’t imagine myself being some kinda science whiz egghead type.” 

Charon snorts at that. He would never have described Yang as being an egghead, barely a scientist, and barely someone a stranger would assume was the son of a doctor. More of a swindler, or a kleptomaniac. a kind hearted snake with a smart mouth and sticky fingers. But the question remains sobering. Who was he? How was he supposed to answer? Before he can formulate a response, Six continues.

“I can’t have been that great though right? I mean…”

He waves his hand, holding the contract. The Contract.

“I bought you right? I bought this, a long time ago. Fucking hate the idea of owning someone, and the Legion, and all the other goddamn slavers out there. but then there's…this. Why?” 

He has to pick his words very carefully here, he’s not sure if he can. Charon was just muscle, Yang had always been the mouthpiece. 

“You purchased my contract several years ago from a ghoul, Ahzrukhal. He was a rat bastard, I was under his employment for twenty years before you. You did not at the time fully understand what you were buying, I do not think. You were…a decent man. For a while you were even considered something of a hero, back in the Capital Wasteland.” 

He’s trying to speak more casually, but he’s still not used to it, still retains his formal tone when speaking out loud even after all these years. 

“You can read Chinese because your father taught you. It is in your heritage. You used Yang as your name in D.C because it is your surname. Your first name is James, after your father. You did not want to be mistaken for him. You did not exactly get along, toward the end.” 

Troubling, that someone who was previously so defined by how he was nothing like his father now doesn’t remember said father at all.

“And before you ask again, that contract grants you access to my combat services, and my continued protection so long as you hold it. Nothing more. I am not a slave, in the traditional sense."

Six hmmms in response, chewing on his half cold, half charred dinner and internally on Charon’s words, probably. Hopefully. 

He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the evening, aside from offering to take first watch with ED-E. The eyebot bleeps out a cheery tune, and Charon resists the urge to turn the damn thing into scrap with a point blank round of shells. 

 

* * *

 

He almost can’t believe Six had managed to keep the contract at all, with zero recollection of what it was.  

“I dunno, it felt important? One of the only things I had on me apparently. Guess Benny and his Khans goons looted my corpse but left me all the paper scrap because it wouldn’t have sold for shit.”

Charon watches as Six sprawled out over one of the tables in the Lucky 38’s cocktail lounge, mixing some sort of alcoholic concoction in a jug. No one else was supposed to be allowed up here but Six had somehow managed to convince Victor to allow Charon up for “a booze taste test” or some other ridiculous excuse. Six brings the jug up to his face to take a sniff; Charon has to hold back the instinctive, specific,  ** _no, protect your employer from this obvious threat_** emotion that wells up in his chest and makes him want to smack the jug out of his hands. Six makes a face and seems to decide that the mix is Bad To Drink though, and puts it down, to Charon’s relief. 

“Alright well now if Victor comes up here to check, it does look like we mixed together some wild shit. Just covering my ass here.” 

Six looks out the window, scratching at the puckered scar on his forehead idly. Charon waits for him to continue.

“I wanted to talk to you properly. Privately.”

Charon feels like the conversation he’s dreading is about to happen.

“I…hm. Not sure how to put this.”

Charon wants to turn around and leave. He wants to go back to the start, before Six, before James Yang, even before that damned bar in Underworld where they first met, when the only moments of conversation in his life were part of his set contractual obligations. Yes, No, I can’t do that for you, Physical violence on your part invalidates our contract, You are my employer and I will do as you command—

“Charon, did we ever, you know. Fuck?”

Fuck!!!

“I mean okay, fuck is a bit crude i guess—”

Fuck!!!!!!!!!!

“-But when I first saw you I think I recognised you pretty much immediately? And I _really_ wanted to jump into your arms or something like that and _maybe_ kiss you but to be fair, that could just be me talking from the waist down. You know how it is—"

Fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“-Because hm. I don’t know. Somehow it felt like doing those things would have just been me following muscle memory. But I didn’t think I’d ever met you before so I thought maybe I just found you, or ghouls, or really big guys hot or something? But since I do apparently know you and apparently I’ve known you for a long time—“

Charon wants to sink into the ground forever, into the real Underworld.

“-I think maybe I freaked out a little bit when i realised you were what, _contractually obligated_ to follow me or whatever? Until you told me that was just for combat and not a fuck-slave situation, that made me feel way better. I mean okay, I know I can be a scumbag sometimes but there was no way in hell would I be _that_ kind of scumbag. So I thought hey, maybe I should just ask you straight up. Were we a thing?”

Six seems to be done. His tone had been casual and conversational but his face is red, the deep flush covering his cheeks and slightly down his neck. His fingers are tapping a staccato beat onto the peeling laminate. Suddenly he’s no longer the swaggering hero of the wastes, but a nervous young man in his mid twenties, trying to figure out if he fucked a ghoul once or twice or a hundred times maybe. 

It’s not a direct order and it has nothing to do with fighting so he doesn’t need to give a direct reply or hell, reply at all. Even without his memory, Six is mindful of not bossing him around. It would be sweet if it weren’t so painful. Charon could also easily end this conversation by saying no. Simple. He wouldn’t have to go through the emotions they’d already been through years ago at the start of their…whatever it was they had. Relationship. Something. Their Understanding. It had been hard, mostly for him rather than Yang, who hadn’t bottled up 200 years of brainwashing and resentment and isolation. He doesn’t want to go through it again, especially with someone he doesn’t know if he can trust yet. That part is probably the worst, the fact that he has to feel uncomfortable looking at the very same face that he used to know so well.

He opts for a shrug. He doesn’t know what else to do.

Six groans and buries his face in his hands.

“Oh my god I don’t _understand_ Charon, what does that even _mean_. I even asked Raul about this because I didn’t know what to do, and _he_ said he thought we probably—"

Charon is mortified. Inwardly. Outwardly he just stiffens, like a radstag in a spotlight.

“You asked—“

“I didn’t know what else to do! And I mean I’ve been travelling with him longer—”

And ah, that one **hurts**. Charon reels like he’d been slapped.

“Wait, no I didn’t… I don’t mean…. I mean….This _Me_ , you know? My memory only goes back like a month and a half now and…I mean me and Raul, we’d been travelling together for like three? Four weeks?”

Seven years, beaten out by four fucking weeks.

Charon wants to throw himself out the goddamn window.

 

* * *

  
Six leaves the next morning.

He tells Charon to wait at the Lucky 38 with the rest of his _friends_ he’d somehow picked up in the past month. He takes the scribe from the Brotherhood and Rex this time. Something about taking the robo-dog to see someone about his brain. Charon wonders how James Yang would feel, if he knew he’d be travelling with Veronica Santangelotoday. Back on the east coast, he’d had a…difficult relationship the Brotherhood, and worked with them reluctantly. Constantly calling them stuck up assholes. Tripping up the recruits practicing in power armour. Stealing from their food supplies just to throw off the scribes during inspection of their stock. The usual.

Six didn’t mind them so much though. Said the tech they’d collected was interesting, and that they were, to quote: "pretty decent people though the isolationist-preservationist lifestyle is weird." He also seemed to like Veronica very much, even stealing a silky dress for her from the White Glove Society when she asked.

Charon honestly, is jealous. Not of the dress. But that Veronica had gone with Six and he was stuck here until they decided to come back. The company was…fine. He supposed. Eccentric. To be expected. The others mostly avoided him, except Boone who seemed to find a kindred spirit in him. They both took to spending their hours in the dining area, sitting in silence, maintaining their weapons. By the end of the week, Charon had officially decided that Boone wasn’t so bad. They hadn’t spoken a single word to one another the entire time. 

 

* * *

   
Six returns. The dog is all better, sent back to The King in Freeside. Six is a bit teary-eyed about saying goodbye to Rex.

“I don’t know why I’m so sad honestly, I guess I just felt really comfortable with a dog at my side.”

Charon thinks about Dogmeat and grips the beer bottle he’s drinking from so hard it shatters in his hand.

 

* * *

  
“Charon, you free to come with me?”

Charon glances behind Six, to the space above his shoulder. 

"No ED-E this time, just you ’n me. You know. Like ah, before.”

He shifts his pack from one shoulder to the other. Nervously. Bouncing from foot to foot. They haven’t really spoken since the cocktail bar incident.

“I wanted to see if travelling with just the two of us will trigger any memories. Might as well right?”

Charon shrugs. Grabs his shotgun.  
Follows him out of the casino.

Might as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> J. Yang specific notes:  
> 1) Maxed out charisma, high agility, low low endurance boy.  
> 2) Not sure how Yang's low endurance body manages to take all of Charon's massive ghoul di-


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks of travelling yields nothing as far as memories go, but they do fall into a comfortable routine. It’s almost like old times, but the slight differences make his chest ache the way ghoul bones sometimes do in the cold and he hates it. 

Six is packing a pricy suppressed sniper rifle this time, just the one gun, a machete, and a combat knife. Charon has no idea when or where he learned how to use the damn thing, he sure as hell didn’t prefer rifles in the past. He’s also more willing to spend now when it comes to weapons and maintains the ones he has well rather than discarding them as he goes. (He even buys Charon some expensive specialty shotgun shells from the Gun Runners, 12 gauge: dragon’s breath. He supposes this is his version of Veronica’s dress.) He’s stopped picking up just any old world junk he sees in the wasteland, only looking for caps, chems, and ammunition. And he doesn’t go out of his way to find sweets anymore. It’s not a travel style he favoured before. 

Oh, and the big fucking bullet hole in his head, obviously. It’s healed now, as much as is possible. Stimpaks accelerate healing, but not much else. The scar will probably be there for the rest of his life. Charon can’t stop staring at it. 

Aside from that it feels familiar, easy. Yang would put his hand over Charon’s to get his attention or to direct him in preparation for a fight, Six does the exact same thing. Yang always offered him food first before eating himself, something Six does without realising. 

Yang would make Charon follow him at a slight distance so he could deal with mines and traps without Charon getting hurt first.

Six was constantly telling him to back up, to be safe.

He needs to run his mouth at least once a day. He’s very free with his physical contact. Still feeds off praise and validation. Needs to stop constantly to rest because although he can be fierce in a fight he also tires easily and always complains his gun is heavy. He’s still compelled to steal shit wherever he goes, just for the fun of it. He’s still eager to help anyone he thinks is being treated unfairly but is more than willing to break rules and locks and faces to achieve his goals. 

It hurts but maybe this is enough. Maybe he can work this out.

 

* * *

  
They finally catch a glimpse of Benny after Six manages to convince Swank of his betrayal. Charon waits in the corner while Six turns up the charm, leaning on the counter and laughing pleasantly, with lots of coy smiles and plenty of eye contact. Swank doesn’t stand a chance. 

Charon cannot for the life of him figure out how the coward across the room surrounded by guards had managed to take out the man who had ruined the Enclave’s entire situation in the east. A man who had brought clean water back to that shithole. He doesn’t care, really. He just wants to get his hands on him, and maybe rip out his throat for the month of stress he caused. Yang has died and been reborn twice, both times fighting battles that were never supposed to be his. 

Six touches Charon's hand with his own, and gives him a look. 

“Let’s check out his suite first, before we figure out how we’re gonna fuck him up.”

Fuck him up? If that’s how the night was going to end, it’s a solid plan.

“I will follow your lead."

 

* * *

 

Yes Man had been a surprise.   

Of all the things Benny could have been hiding in his suite, a chatty modified securitron was probably the most unexpected. Yes Man had a lot to say about the chip, The Strip, The Families. About the possibility of an independent New Vegas. Six is quiet and deep in thought the entire way back to the main casino floor of The Tops. So much so that he nearly walks right out into the open and into Benny’s line of sight, Charon has to hook him around the waist and drag him back behind the corner before they’re seen. 

“ _Be cautious_."

“Oops, shit, thanks for that save Charon. Almost forgot we were going to deal with Benny.”

Charon hadn’t forgotten. Charon has a lot of ideas for how they should _deal_ with Benny. He’s been thinking about it every day since he first learned about the man in the checkered suit. Since he found out about how Yang had been bound, gagged, shot in the head, and buried in that shallow grave.

Six peeks around the corner again. Benny. Four guards. Several gamblers nearby.

“Alright, I think it’s best if we confront him out in the open, I doubt he’s going to want to start a shootout right here on his own casino floor.”

He shoves something into Charon’s hands. A stealth boy?

“Here, use it. I’m going to try and get our friend Benny to meet me alone, and I think it’ll be harder to convince him if he sees I have company. You’re gonna have to sneak in and follow us.” 

Fine. Whatever. He can do that. 

“And then? You will kill him?”

“I want more information first. Then…hm. Then _you_ can kill him. You want to, I can tell."

How thoughtful. Charon wants nothing more, in this moment. His blood is boiling.

 

* * *

 

Benny agrees to meet Six up in the presidential suite. Alone. 

Fucking idiot.

 

* * *

 

Six and Benny talk. Benny tries to offer Six a percentage of the profits for his cooperation. Six politely declines. Charon stands behind Benny’s seated form the whole time, cloaked and silent. He hates how Benny keeps calling Six “baby”, hates his diction and his tone of voice. He keeps staring at the back of the man's neck like somehow he’ll burn a hole straight through with his gaze alone. He’s startled though when he does happen to glance up and sees that Six isn’t looking at Benny, but slightly over Benny's shoulder. At Charon. When they make eye contact Six smiles.

Can he see him? Did the stealth boy wear off? Charon needs to take a moment to check but no, he’s still invisible. So, Six just knows where he is then. Perceptive bastard.

“Benny, Benman, sorry to cut this meeting short. I’m a busy guy you know? Gotta thank you for all that info, but you’ve outlived your usefulness. And I think my friend would like to have a chat with you before we leave.”

Benny doesn’t even have the time to question Six before Charon is there, stealth boy off and drawn to his full height. The fear on Benny's face is perfect as Charon wrings the life out of him like a wet rag. It’s the most satisfying kill of his life.

 

* * *

 

“So what do you think Charon?”

Charon grumbles. Wipes his hands clean on the pool table. Six interprets it as a “what do you mean?” kind of grumble. 

“About what Yes Man said. The idea of taking over New Vegas. No Legion, no NCR. No Mr House. Independence.”

Six had undressed Benny’s body, setting aside his gun and folding the checkered suit neatly. Probably to sell off later. He has the platinum chip between his teeth as he grabs Benny by the legs to drag his corpse out of the way.

“I mean it sounds good right? But I don’t know if I could take charge like that, I’m not cut from that kinda cloth. Or at least I don’t think I am. Am I? You’d know.”

Charon has no idea.

It’s possible, of course. Yang had something special, people flocked to him, were willing to listen. And he had never exactly seen eye to eye with any faction on the east coast, preferring to support individuals who needed help rather than align himself with large groups. Fuck the Brotherhood and fuck the Enclave. Based on his opinion on slavers definitely fuck the Legion. The NCR? As far as large militant organisations go it doesn’t seem as bad he supposes, maybe Yang would have been okay with them? He’ll never know. This is on a whole different scale.

“I am not certain.”

“Seriously? You said you knew me. Was I much of a leader?”

“This is not a situation you have ever been in. I have nothing to compare it with.”

“Man…that sucks. I have no idea what to do with this fucking chip then! Should I just deliver it? Get my caps from House and leave the rest to fate? Argh, fuck. Shit. I’ll hold onto it and think about it, no rush for now right? We’ll go do something else for a while until I figure out what the hell I’m doing.”

“That is probably for the best.”

Six leaves Benny propped up beside the elevator door. They’ll probably cut him up and dump his pieces into the wastes after it gets dark. For now Six seems happy to just explore the suite, immediately going for the locked safe in the wall to crack it open. Charon has to admit it’s an impressive set of rooms, probably a very expensive night’s sleep. With nothing else left to do he goes to sit on the couch. It still sort of has some cushioning in it and most of the upholstery is intact. Again, expensive.

“So, Charon. How do you feel now?” 

How _does_ he feel now? The adrenaline is wearing off from the kill and he feels…dull. Tired. Strangling Benny felt good in the moment, but it doesn’t bring the memories back, doesn’t heal that ugly scar. It just leaves Charon with a lot of frustration that suddenly has nowhere to go and no one to blame. 

“I am fine."

Six snorts out a laugh. It’s an ugly, comforting sound.

“I mean I know you’re _fine_ , I have eyes. But how do you _feel_.” 

Charon doesn’t answer. Six doesn’t push the matter further.

 

* * *

 

Swank is the official boss of The Tops now. He lets them keep the keys to the presidential suite in exchange for the promotion of his life. 

Six immediately jumps on the opportunity to relax and clean up in luxury, so eager for a shower he practically starts undressing in the elevator on the way back up. He’s throwing off boots and armour as soon as the doors open, stumbling to the bathroom shedding gear as he goes. It’s not part of his job, but Charon mutters darkly under his breath and picks up after the courier anyway because he _gives_ a shit goddammit. He also makes sure to lock the elevator down because of course Six forgets about normal safety procedure. 

Fresh from his shower, Six doesn’t bother with dressing immediately. He just wanders around in a towel, happy to let his guard down.  _Shameless_ , Charon thinks, but it does give him the opportunity to see this body for the first time since…well. 

He’s lost a lot of weight and muscle. During his solo stint Yang had clearly not been looking after himself, likely going days without food and water. Charon was usually the one to remind him to eat, to drink, to take regular breaks and to sleep. Without him, the stupid boy would overexert himself to the point of collapse. A whole month without him? He can't believe Six didn't work himself into the ground. It explains why his stamina so much lower, even more than it used to be. A lot of new scars he also doesn’t recognise; Charon's eyes trace over a particularly nasty one over his left side and past the top of his towel, likely down over his thigh. It looks like a burn, a flamer or a grenade maybe? The scarring is intense, it probably wasn’t treated properly if at all. Charon feels a slight twitch in his brain; his conditioning. It's a far weaker feeling than before, but it's still there in the back of his mind. Injury = combat, combat that he missed. It’s telling him he fucked up.  
He wasn’t there to protect him. 

“Hey, no need to undress me with your eyes like that, I’m already basically naked.”

Charon snaps his head up. Six is smiling at him, eyebrow raised. His flirty grin falters though, when he realises what he’d said and who he’d said it to.

“Oh, shit uh. Sorry, wasn’t thinking. Sorry. Let me start again. What’s up?” 

“….It is nothing. Where did you get that injury?” 

Six looks down and places his hand over the burns down his side.

“What, this? Ah… fiends. Some guy named Cook-Cook with an NCR bounty on his head. Sniped him from a safe distance but couldn’t go for the face because they wanted it for identification. Guess he was smarter or on less chems that day than the other fiends or something because he played dead when I hit him in the chest. Big ass fucking incinerator, got the drop on me and it hurt like hell. Earned a fair amount of caps out of it though so it’s fine.” 

It’s not fine.

“Actually, hm. I have a lot of these that I have no context for. Can’t remember how I got half of these scars. Do you know what they’re from?” 

Charon remembers nearly every single one. He sighs.

“Fine. Yes. I remember. Come here.” 

Six steps over. Sits on the coffee table facing Charon on the couch. Both of their legs are long, and they’re close enough for their knees to be touching. The towel is slipping down his hips. Charon does his best to ignore its descent. 

Gingerly, Six leans forward and presents his arms. The bigger gashes and bite marks are easy. Charon taps them with his finger as he names them.

“Mirelurks. Mole rats. Ferals. One time you got too close to a brahmin as a joke and it bit you. You deserved it.” 

Six laughs. Nods.

“Fair. Sounds like something I’d do.”

Charon lets his hands drift up. The inside of his elbow. There are some pockmarks that weren’t there before, from chem use. He touches these briefly, before pointing to a cluster of faded needle marks.

“These. IV. Recovering from radiation poisoning. Finishing a project that your father started. Stupid reckless smoothskin, walked right into an irradiated room even though I could have easily done it for you. Took you two weeks to wake up.” 

“What kind of project was it?” 

“A purifier. Large scale. Capital Wasteland has water now because of you.” 

“It’s fucked up I can't remember doing something that sounds so important.”

It really is.

 

* * *

 

They move on, along the catalogue of injuries covering his body. Simple ones again, Legs and back. Normal battle scars, mostly raiders, easy to explain.

“Okay so, what about this one?”

He’s touching the back of his head, a vertical scar visible through his short hair.

“I am not clear on details for this one. Something to do with a trip you took once, without me. Apparently you had some of your brain extracted in your sleep.”

“I’m missing brain matter?! Shit, my head's been through a lot huh?”

“You are a nosy human with a thick skull, you cannot help but get yourself into trouble.” 

Six makes a face at him, it’s playful. Smacks his wrist with his palm.

“Rude.”

“But it is true.”

“ _Maybe_. But alright, what about these last ones?”

Charon looks to where he’s pointing and his stomach drops. Two bite marks, on his inner thigh. Not high enough to be scandalous but enough to be deliberate and _distinctly_ not battle related. These he remembers very clearly. Well, no use lying about it.

“These ones were made by me.” 

Six frowns, tilts his head in confusion. “Huh? Oh. OH.” 

Charon sits back, coughing. Six grips his towel and brings it back to cover his thighs modestly. 

“Well. Yes. We should probably talk about that right? About um, about this.” at this he gestures between to the space between them, awkwardly letting his hand drift back down to his lap in a tight fist. 

Charon hesitates. But he can’t put it off forever. “…Yes. If that is a conversation you wish to have.”

Six fiddles with the hem of his tattered towel, throat working as he swallows down his anxiety. “How do you feel about me, right now? I want you to be honest.” He moves jerkily, lurching over and gripping Charon’s hands tight in his own.

His energy is suddenly frantic, eyes wide and unfocused. Desperate. Out of his element.

“I mean okay, listen. I know how I feel, I know I like you a lot. It’s like I’m becoming reacquainted with an old friend who I haven’t seen in years, getting to know them, falling in fucking…I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s _love_ , or like, or _something_. But it’s different for you right? It's fucked up how weird this probably is for you because I…I can’t remember jackshit but you do, you remember our history and—”

Again with the feeling. Charon is still bad at those. Bad at taking those feelings and turning them into words that make sense to himself, let alone others. He has nothing he can say. But he can _do_. He’s a ghoul of action.

So he interrupts by pulling his hands out of Six’s grasp. Before the younger man can protest too much, Charon drags him by his hips right onto his lap. 

“Oh!”

His body feels smaller, lighter than it used to. It’s wrong, but it’s fine. He can get used to the changes. Charon places one broad, rough hand into the curve of Six's back and pulls him closer.

“ _Oh_ , oh my _god_ —“

“I am not good with words. But I will show you.”

It’s definitely not the best kiss they’ve shared, a bit too desperate, maybe a little too forceful. But it’s also not the worst. 

It’s fine, Charon thinks again as Six throws his towel to the side and straddles him, hands fisted roughly into the exposed collar of his shirt.

They’ll work it out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Benny voice: What In The Goddamn--


	4. Chapter 4

He gets to properly look at Six now, close, above him, panting and pressing him down into the mattress with thin, calloused hands. They’d moved to a bed and his armour is off, Charon isn’t quite sure when and how exactly. He’d been concentrating on other things. 

The Lone Wanderer had always kept his hair fairly short, but The Courier keeps it buzzed close now, black hair prickly under his fingers. Charon can see from this angle that there are many other scars across Six’s face and neck, most are small barely noticeable scratches. Probably from shrapnel, bar fights, other inevitable hazards present in wasteland life. His eyes drift back up to the biggest and most obvious mark. It looks like Six might have turned his head when Benny shot him; the scar cuts through his right eyebrow, a short line of torn tissue leading to the point of impact just above his temple. Square jaw, dark eyes, a sly smile that twists slightly more on the left than on the right. Even with the cuts and bruises and a split lip he looks good, strong features falling somewhere in the middle of the spectrum between handsome and pretty. Upon closer inspection he definitely is much thinner around the waist than he used to be. Inversely he’d gained some muscle definition in his arms and shoulders, probably from repeated use of heavier weapons than he had favoured in the past. It’s different, but it’s not bad.

Then Six grinds down on him and Charon is definitely not thinking about his face or his arms anymore. Clearly crouching in a sniping position for hours on end had done wonders for his...other assets.

“Ff-fuck, you feel _huge_ , what the **_hell_**.” 

Charon barks out a surprised laugh at how _offended_ his tone is.

“Absolutely no way did this monster dick ever fit up my ass, you are a liar and a fraud.” 

Charon sits up as Six prods his chest with an accusatory finger, looking down at the tent that had formed in his pants. “Hn. A tight squeeze but you had never complained before. Besides, you should probably see what you are actually working with before you pass judgment."

Six huffs, warm breath ghosting over Charon’s chest as he complies and reaches for his zipper. He moans low in his throat. 

“No way in hell, you’d have to spend a fucking hour stretching me out before I’d be anywhere near ready to take that. Do you have to custom tailor your pants?! There’s gotta be a trick here somewhere, it’s impossible you were packing _this_ the whole time.” 

“Have some faith in your own body. You are more…accommodating than you assume you are.”

“Hey! You calling my ass loose? Bitch? Fucker? How _very_ dare you.” 

“Loose enough.”

“I’ll have you know these cheeks are tighter than a deathclaw’s locked jaws, thank you very much.” 

It’s easy for them to slip back into the familiar banter that came with foreplay, it feels good. Charon can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“We do not have to do this if you are not ready.” More seriously now, because Charon doesn’t want to actually hurt or scare Six at this point. 

“No!” He yelps. "No no, it’s… it’s fine! We can work something out, it’ll be uh fun I’m sure. I’m just a little surprised is all! Who would’ve thought I was a size queen huh?” He finally works up enough courage to reach down and grasp Charon’s firm cock in both hands, giving him a few experimental strokes. He’s clearly excited but jittery, and his energy is all over the place. Charon puffs out a long-suffering sigh and flips their positions in one fluid motion, pushing Six down onto the bed by his shoulders. Pinning him into the sheets, grounding him, leaning in close. Smoothskin is meant to be an insult but honestly it is neither inaccurate nor unpleasant. He had almost forgotten how nice soft undamaged human skin is under his worn hands.

“If you do want to do this, then... you will need to relax.” His voice is coming out soft, rasping and gravelly now in his arousal. Six quakes under him with eyes wide and pupils blown. He stammers out something almost incoherent, but Charon can make out a few stuttering mentions of _yes_ ,  _please_ , then a quiet _you better go easy on my ass you beast_ , and Charon again can’t help the laugh that escapes him. That’s permission enough.

Charon shifts, nudging long legs further apart and settling between them. He allows his cock to push up beside Six’s own. “I will not fuck you today,” He growls, leaning more so the tip is pressing just below the younger man's navel. “But for future reference, you may see how deep I will go.” 

Six lets out a high sharp sound somewhere between a moan and a gasp, hips canting forward. He looks ready to pass out. “God, Charon, you’re _killing_ _me here_ …I’m gonna die before we get to the good part! I mean hell, you aren’t even undressed ye--”

His complaint dissolves into a rather undignified breathy shout as he’s flipped onto his stomach, one large hand shoving his chest and head down into the covers. Six’s back is forced into an arch this way, giving Charon a very pleasant view. He allows himself an indulgent squeeze, relishing how the other man's toes curl in response. Presses his fingers down to slide between his thighs, rubbing against the raised tooth marks. 

“Charon, how’d you even make those? Thought you weren’t supposed to be able to hurt me?” His voice comes out muffled, face still partially pressed into a pillow. “And can we make more?” 

“Not unless you have some med-x. I believe you jokingly called it your s-&-m-loophole.” 

Six snorts, twisting to look at Charon with a cheeky grin. “I was into that stuff? And more importantly, I’ve always been a brilliant wordsmith?” 

Charon rolls his eyes. Gives his ass another rough squeeze. “Only partially. Sex was not really the main focus of that experiment.” He leans forward, hands planted on either side of Six’s body. Feels him shiver as he crushes himself flush against his back. “You were trying to break the contract. Or at least weaken it. Something to that effect. You wanted to see if the painkilling effect of med-x would allow me to hurt you.” Mouths across his shoulder, letting his teeth scratch over the back of Six’s neck and cupping his hand over his parted lips to catch the breathy moan it drags out of him. “It only worked for a moment. Long enough to make those. We did end up fucking, of course but only because you are so very…distracting. And needy.” 

Six cackles at that, his voice clear and honest and entirely free and Charon feels a tug in his chest. Even on his best days Yang spent his life burdened by decisions made and decisions to make, but Six is focused on the present, is living in the now. Charon thrusts forward, fingers digging into smooth hips, and as he feels himself sliding hard and dry between the press of Six’s thighs he thinks that if forgetting is what it took for this man to forgive himself then perhaps it was for the best.

 

* * *

 

The tick tick tick of the pip-boy geiger counter always made Charon feel a little guilty even through the pleasant afterglow of sex but Six simply stuffs the offending piece of tech under the bed to muffle the sound and grins at him. Shoves himself into the space between Charon’s arm and his side like he belongs there and it feels like coming home.  
  


* * *

  
“You know boss,” Raul says, looking up from the weapon he’s helping to repair. “you keep carting ghouls around and people on the strip are gonna start thinking you’ve got certain ah, proclivities.” 

Six chokes on his Sunset Sarsaparilla and Charon does his best to hide his smug smile behind his cigarette.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it! Thanks so much everyone for your comments and kudos on this, Baby’s First Fic Ever. I appreciate every single one! I have most of the prequel to this already written but it’s far gloomier than this fun Mojave romp and it desperately needs proofreading so I’ll get to that eventually.


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